


but be the serpent under't.

by cliffkiffle



Series: bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue. [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, I mean it's darling pan but it's not -darling pan- you know? like don't ship this., taking liberties with exactly what the heart of the truest believer is for, those lost boys are barely mentioned but will have more significance at some point hopefully, wendy's wolf: why isn't she ever canon - an epic saga by me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:11:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7842613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cliffkiffle/pseuds/cliffkiffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's been keeping secrets from Wendy, and insists on provoking her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but be the serpent under't.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a diptych but you know I think I'll have to make it a triptych; the third part being a multi-chap fic. Only working on three of those right now, no big deal.

**i am a she lion: you are my prey.**

“He’s been having nightmares again, m’lady,” the Lost Boy says as he leads Wendy through the woods. “He screams and whimpers about a bird of prey who hunts him.” He smirks. “Pathetic.”

“Quite. Thank you — you may leave me.” Wendy stops at the edge of the clearing, gazing levelly at the inhabitant of the cage, and the Lost Boy backs away. 

Peter Pan stares back at her from between the bars, his eyes huge and hollow in a pale, bruised face. There’s a wound on his forehead, slicing neatly through his left eyebrow, and a trickle of dried blood clings to the side of his nose, a macabre tear. Wendy must remind the guards to be a little more gentle with him.

“You don’t look well, pet.”

Peter bares his teeth, and does not speak. He sometimes goes for months at a time without speaking. Wendy wonders if he ever forgets how.

“On the contrary,” he finally rasps. “I am in excellent health. Though my living conditions may yet bore me to death.”

“Ah, Peter, I’d never let that happen. That would be too kind a fate for you. Now,” she steps close to the cage, dropping to her knees and wrapping her fingers around the bars. Despite himself, Peter leans forward. “You’ve been keeping things from me, Peter,” she chides him gently, in the same voice she uses when the younger Lost Boys get overexcited and skin their knees.

He raises his eyebrows, prompting her to continue.

“You did not tell me, for example, that time is running out for you.” There’s just enough space between the bars for Wendy to slip her hand through and place two fingers under his chin, forcing him to tilt his head back so that the moon glints in his eyes and his throat is exposed. He flinches, trying to shake her off, but her hold is tight.

“There are many things I don’t tell you.”

“That does not mean I will not find out.”

She pulls her hand away, looking at him until he blinks and looks down. His gaze is locked back on hers after just a moment, but she has won.

“You were looking for a way to reverse the hourglass, weren’t you?” Wendy asks. “Did you work it out, my pet?”

“Did _you_?” He leans in, barely-concealed desperation burning behind those verdant eyes.

“Of course I did. But I was always cleverer than you.”

Peter scoffs, and Wendy raises an eyebrow. 

“Mm. I thought so. No brains in that head of yours, pet.”

Peter mutters something, and Wendy leans in, her cheek pressing against the bars of the cage. “You have to speak up, Peter, if you want to have a conversation.”

“The heart of the truest believer,” he repeats, torn between arrogance and resentment. He has no right to be arrogant, here, in his cage, and Wendy thinks she will punish him for it later.

“Well _done_ , Peter. But that’s as far as you got, isn’t it? Never found that heart, never saved Neverland — or yourself.” She pulls away from the cage, standing up and brushing the dirt from her dress. “You always were a thoughtless little boy. And now Neverland’s time is nearly up. Well, I will not allow my kingdom to by destroyed by the foolishness of a selfish _child_.”

He hisses, drawing back at the insult. “ _Your_ kingdom—?”

“Yes, Peter, _my_ kingdom! You’ve been in this cage for five decades. Time enough for you to realise that this will be your forever.”

“You _stole_ Neverland from me,” Peter says, voice harsh and shaking with anger. “It will _never_ love you as it loves me.”

She looks down at him, cold fury wrapped in a cotton nightdress. “You forget who you’re talking to, pet. Be quiet now, or I shall call for Loupe.”

“Neverland will never give you what you truly desire,” Peter continues. His fingers curl around the bars and he presses his face eagerly forwards, drinking in every minute change in her expression. “You’re never seeing your home again.”

Wendy hopes that the brief flicker of pain on her face was worth it. She throws her head back and howls for Loupe. Deep in the forest, a few Lost Boys pick up the call, screaming Loupe’s name into the treetops. A bevy of deer crash though the undergrowth, fleeing the approaching pack.

The moon vanishes behind a cloud as Loupe stalks into the clearing. Her golden gaze swivels to Wendy, intelligence and hunger shining in her eyes. Behind Loupe stands her pack: four huge beasts. They paw at the ground, breath steaming in the air, eager for the hunt to begin.

Peter has retreated to the back of his cage, his arms wrapped protectively around his chest.

“The cage doesn’t keep you safe, you know that,” says Wendy, as she unlocks the door. “You stand a better chance out there.” She points into the trees.

“Wendy?”

She turns to see the Lost Boys who had answered her call. Her most trusted lieutenants: Slightly, Felix, Rufio and Tootles. Each is bonded to a wolf in Loupe’s pack just as Wendy herself is bonded to Loupe.

“Are we hunting tonight?”

“Yes,” says Wendy. “Yes, I think the pack shall have great sport this evening.” She looks back at Peter. “Go,” she says. “I shall be kind, and give you seven minutes’ head start.”

Finally Peter does as she says, tearing across the clearing and disappearing into the forest. He moves silently, as he did when she first arrived here. The difference now is that Wendy can be noiseless, too.

“After this,” she addresses her boys, “we go after the heart.”

Then she turns and sprints after Peter. Loupe follows, her fur gleaming like moonlight. As they race after her, the Lost Boys do not mention that it has barely been one minute, let alone seven; in Neverland, lies are as common as fairies.


End file.
